


What's a Little Blackmail Between Friends?

by i_claudia



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kel found Neal in a courtyard of the palace, stretched out in the sun with his long nose in a book. There were sparrows on his shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's a Little Blackmail Between Friends?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for amaberis's prompt: _more Tortall fic, Kel-Neal friendship_.
> 
> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/48017.html#cutid1). (19 January 2010)

Kel found Neal in a courtyard of the palace, stretched out in the sun with his long nose in a book. There were sparrows on his shoulders. 

He looked up as she approached, a wide smile threatening for a moment before he folded his lips together and tried to frown. “You’ve been an altogether terrible influence on these birds,” he informed her. “I can hardly read with all the racket they’re making.”

She rolled her eyes. “You always think the worst of me. Take it up with the Wildmage if it really bothers you.”

“She’s off in the Copper Isles, cavorting with winged horses. Besides, I’d rather blame you. If they soil my shirt, I’m sending you the bill.”

Kel scoffed and prodded him with the toe of her booted foot. “Come to the practice yards with me. The only ones around right now are shiny-eyed squires and new knights looking to make names for themselves, and I don’t fancy practicing with any of them.”

“You never fancy practicing with anyone less than eight feet tall and four feet wide, armed with a mace in one hand and a broadsword in the other.” Neal put his book up protectively in front of his face. “I’ve no interest in being publicly humiliated, thanks.”

She kicked him again. “Your wife and children aren’t going to get back from the Yamani Isles any faster if you mope around here, you know. Training will take your mind off of things.”

“So does reading,” Neal pointed out, “and it doesn’t involve me falling down and getting bruised by you.”

“Come on, Neal,” she wheedled, then thought a moment. “I’ll tell your squire your nickname is Sir Meathead if you don’t.”

Neal gave an explosive sigh, but he set aside his book and stood up, stretching. “You are a terrible person,” he told her. “Don’t you have a husband around here somewhere you could beat up instead?”

“He took Elaine into the city to look at daggers earlier; they won’t be back until after lunch.” 

“Blood-thirsty heathens, the lot of you,” Neal grumbled, and Kel grinned. “I can’t believe I’m related to such a clan of warriors. We should have just left you in Scanra.”

“Come on, old man,” Kel said. “The sooner you stop moaning and come along, the sooner you can get back to moping over your book.”

Neal made hurt, indignant noises, and threw a half-hearted punch which she ducked easily. “I’ll get you for that, Mindelan!”

“Have to catch me first,” she called back over her shoulder, and raced off toward the training yards laughing, Neal hot on her heels.


End file.
